


You Torture Saints With A Single Glance

by coldskin



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chubby Simon, Clueless Simon, M/M, Mild Cursing, POV Baz, Pining, Scandinavian jumper, Short One Shot, Simon has hip chub, pining Baz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldskin/pseuds/coldskin
Summary: Baz's thoughts on the Scandinavian jumper he lends to Simon in chapter 60





	You Torture Saints With A Single Glance

**Author's Note:**

> just a short drabble of this one line in chapter 60 of Carry On that i wanted a background of. 
> 
> kudus and comments are much appreciated!!

**BAZ**

"You look twelve," I say, giving myself the excuse to look at him. Snow's staring around my room but the second I speak he turns to look at me. 

"What?" He asks, fingers gripping at the edge of his Watford uniform. I sigh and roll my eyes. 

"Your uniform makes you look twelve. Do you expect to go interrogate vampires dressed like that?" I question and an angry blush spreads across his cheeks. I have to look away before I say something stupid. He opens his mouth, looks down at his uniform and frowns. 

"Well I didn't bring any clothes," He replies with a tilt of his head. I roll my eyes again and shake my head. He stares at me with his stupid eyes, and his stupid mouth is still hanging open and I want to kiss him. I need to get away from him before I do. I walk towards my closet and I hear Snow follow behind me. I take a deep breath. (Which is a bad idea because I inhale the scent of him and it always tends to make me a little manic.)

"What're you doing?" He asks from right behind my shoulder. His morning breath is on my cheek but I still have to fight the urge to spin around and push him against the wall. To kiss him or fight him, I don't know. Maybe both. 

I don't answer him. Instead I walk through the closet doors, passing the suits and fancy shoes. 

"You have a walk-in closet?" He looks around the room in amazement. I turn my head to look at him and he's brushing his fingers against the sleeves of my suits. 

"This place is as big as our room at Watford," He whispers. _Our_ room. If I could, I would have blushed. (I didn't hunt last night.) 

"I have a lot of clothes." That's stupid. So stupid. Of course he can see I have a lot of clothes. I shake my head and turn away from him again. I continue deeper into the closet and find the the clothes I'm looking for. There's more than a dozen jumpers on the hangers and I rifle through them, pulling some down. Snow is still steps away, ogling my watch collection. I look around my closet for my trousers and grab a few. 

"Snow," I say and he jumps, knocking over a box of my cufflinks, scattering them on the ground. 

"Shit, I'm sorry-" He drops to the ground and collects them quickly, muttering apologies. I sigh and set the clothes down, bending down to help him, telling him it's alright. Once the cufflinks sat in back in their respective place I handed him the jumpers and trousers. 

"What are these for?" He asks and I feel like rolling my eyes for possibly the thousandth time today. He's staring at the clothes with confusion and I let out a sigh. 

"They're for you, Snow. I need you to at least  _look_ eighteen," I mutter and Snow blushes again. 

"Um," He stammers, "alright. Let me just..."

He sets the clothes down on a drawer and starts to unbutton his shirt. 

"What in Crowley's name are you _doing_?" I ask, my hands moving to their own accord, laying flat against his chest. 

"Changing?" He states it as a question and his idiocy almost makes me forget that I'm touching him.  _Merlin and Morgana,_ I'm touching him. And we're not fighting. This is a charmed life. I look down at my hands, pressed firmly against his clothed skin and step away quickly, letting out a small cough. 

"Just, hurry up," I say, crossing my arms to hide the sudden trembles in my hands. I turn my back to him, trying to distract myself with flicking off nonexistent lint off of one of the shirts. 

"Uh...Baz?" I turn around hesitantly, and my breath hitches in my throat. Snow is standing in front of me, holding a pair of trousers in his hand. My eyes flicker down only to notice the tight blue briefs and pale legs scattered with freckles. His briefs are too tight and his hips look soft and round. In that instant I wonder if I actually died in that coffin and gone to fucking heaven. His shirt is unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders and he looks like every nightmare and daydream I've ever had. I'm staring for so long that I don't notice him calling my name. I look up and blink. 

"What?" I shake my head and school my features. 

"Your jeans are too small on me." I can see that now. He has thick thighs and a bit of hip chub that I've never noticed before. (I've never seen him half naked before either, so.)

"Oh." It's all I can think of. English has completely gone from my mind, replaced with a chorus of S _nowSnowSnow._ He's all round edges and soft curves and it completely shatters the image in my mind that thought Snow was some fit boy with a six pack hidden under his uniform. But this...this is better. So much better. He's more real like this. 

"Baz." His voice brings me back to reality and I snap my head up to look at him. He's staring at me with uncertainty and I shift my features into that of indifference. 

"Guess you'll have to leave those foul trousers on," I mutter, taking the jeans from his hands. I busy myself with putting them away, giving myself only two side glances at Snow who was absorbed in trying on the different jumpers. (Without his trousers, the idiot.) With all the jeans put away I had nothing left to do but _try_ not to make a fool of myself in front of Snow. 

I watch as he slips into a light blue jumper, and  _nope._ That jumper fitted him  _too_ nicely. I wouldn't be able to concentrate at all with that bloody thing on. 

"You look absolutely disastrous," I say and Snow looks up at me with a frown. 

"Really? I thought it looked alright." 

"Well of course  _you_ would think so," I remark and he blushes.

"Why do you always have to be so... _mean?"_ He furrows his eyebrows and pulls off the sweater angrily. He throws it at me and crosses his arms over his chest. 

"Why do you always have to act so childish?" I retort as the sweater hits me in my face. He doesn't say anything except for a slightly animalistic growl. I walk towards him and rummage through the sweaters I picked out before finding a Scandinavian jumper. 

"Here." I toss him the jumper and he catches it, muttering profanities. He slips into it without a word and stares at me expectantly. I let my eyes wander his body for a second before reeling myself back. 

"Not disastrous," I say, "But it'd look better with trousers on." 

In that moment he seemed to have remembered his partial nudity. Heat rises to his neck and in that moment I know that even if I dressed him in Aunt Fiona's ghastly clothing he'd still have the same effect on me. Stupid Snow and his stupid ability to look good in anything. 

I give myself the satisfaction of watching him dress before following him out of the closet, closing the door behind me.

"Now that you _look_ eighteen we can go interrogate those fucking vampires," I say. Snow turns to look at me and smiles casually and for a second I forget about our rivalry and the war and everything wrong with this situation. He smiles at me as if we're companions--no as if we're  _friends._ And in that moment I wonder if we  _could_  be.

But then he turns away and the moments over. 

 

 


End file.
